Thursday, May 17, 2012

A couple weeks ago, I had a crazy afternoon at the day job.
I opted to eat lunch at my desk, and in the interest of shielding my boobs
from spaghetti stains, tucked a napkin in the front of my blouse.

Naturally, that’s when the CEO walked past. He stood in the
doorway and stared at my sauce-stained, makeshift bib and the noodle hanging from
the side of my mouth.

“I want a picture of that.”

Lucky for him, I embarrass myself with food often enough to
make photographic evidence unnecessary. Hang around and you’re bound to witness
something.

Just last month, one of the housemates walked into my
writing office to discover me with my hand in my bra.

“I dropped a Cheerio,” I explained. “I’m trying to fish it
out.”

He shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

The most recent example of my social ineptitude with food
happened Monday night at a Little League game. While my gentleman friend’s
offspring made the rounds on the ball field, he and I munched sandwiches from a
nearby deli.

“Want a bite of my pickle?” he asked.

“Are you talking dirty again?”

He laughed and thrust his pickle – the green kind – in front
of my face. I shook my head, not particularly interested, but my gentleman friend
insisted.

“It’s really good,” he said, wagging the pickle.

As if to illustrate its juicy goodness, the pickle dribbled
a healthy portion of brine down the front of my v-neck shirt.

I reacted like any normal woman would (assuming that normal
woman has no sense of taste or decorum). I smashed my boobs together to halt
the flow of fluid, curled my tongue into a straw, and slurped the pickle juice
from my cleavage.

My gentleman friend blinked in disbelief. “You did not just do that.”

“I did,” I confirmed, glancing around to be sure the parents
and players were fixated on the game instead of my pornographic display.

“You licked pickle juice off your boobs at a Little League
game.”

“Isn’t that better than if you licked pickle juice off my boobs at a Little League game?”

“Good point,” he agreed, and turned back to the ball field.

So this is why I probably shouldn’t eat in public. Or why I
should just start going topless so I never have to worry about lost food and
stained shirts.

I once dropped an ice cube down my shirt in a restaurant. I've also managed to get soy sauce stains on my bra. And SO many crumbs it isn't even funny. Sometimes there's a noise when I take my bra off at night. Garlic bread or toast crumbs are the worst because they ITCH.

Why don't you come to MY son's little league games? I could use a relaxed gal like you to hang with. I feel a little out of place at times, like I'm going to utter something too sarcastic or make a fool of myself.